THIRD GAME—THE PECKING GAME
The same cards are used, and two persons play. The cards are all placed together on the table, and each player takes three cards, of which he turns one up, so as to see which is to begin pecking. The first player throws one card on the table and the other does the same. If the player whose turn it is to throw sees that with the cards in his hand and those on the table he can make up a set he picks them up, and so the game goes on; the cards being taken three by three from the pack until all have been drawn. When that is done, the number of points held by each player, according to the system of counting described above, is counted.
In all these games, besides the stake, each player may place a sum of money or a single coin before him on the table. If he loses, he loses this money also; whilst if he wins, each player has to pay him an equivalent sum. This is betting added to staking. We have also cards representing chess figures, in which the cannon, the carriage, and the horse form a set, as do also three similar cards, or the general, the councillor, and the elephant.
These cards are played in the same way as the others. Chinese cards are always much smaller than those used in Europe, measuring about one inch by two. These cards were invented under the reign of the Han dynasty, as a pastime and as a relief in solitude. But now-a-days they have become a social game, even in parties where people are far from wanting subjects of amusement.
CHAPTER XXXIV
LOTTERIES
We have no official lottery, and, unless I am greatly mistaken, we never did have one. The private lottery, however, which is generally very advantageous to its promoters, does exist in China. When a person is in want of money, be it to pay for the funeral of a relation, or for the expenses connected with a marriage in his family, or to help one of his relations to go to Pekin for the examinations, he gets forty or fifty friends and acquaintances of his together, and begs them to take tickets in his lottery. These tickets cost so much, payable in fractions at each of the drawings. The first prize-winner is, of course, the organiser of the lottery, and the amount at stake for the first drawing becomes his without any drawing being necessary to determine his right. That is in reality only an advance or loan to be repaid by instalments, for at all the subsequent drawings he pays just like his friends, and cannot win a second prize. The second and subsequent drawings determine the prize-winners, according to the number of points obtained by each player with the dice-box. Six dice are used. At each of these parties, which take place once a quarter or once every six months, the prize-winner always gives a dinner to the others. Everything is done so straightforwardly that in the end nobody loses, as each player can only win once. Nobody may play until he has paid the amount due on his ticket. The highest throw takes the whole stake, without deduction either for commission or interest, a small amount being retained for the dinner alone. In China we do not invest our money as is done everywhere else, and accordingly the last winner has no reason to regret that his turn to win only came at the end. On the contrary, this investment of small sums paid away from time to time, resulting in the acquisition of a lump sum at the end, is a very good saving operation. It helps to buy a piece of land, and at the same time he has the satisfaction of knowing that he has helped a friend in need. The use of these lotteries is very general amongst the middle classes, that is to say, amongst very honourable and very solvable people, who don’t like to place themselves under obligations by asking for other kinds of loans, and are too proud to accept alms. Being in want of money they make use of this system of borrowing, with the obligation of repaying the sum received in a certain number of annuities. In the upper classes money is never needed, whilst amongst the lower classes the lottery system cannot be employed, because there is no guarantee of the solvability of the organiser. Amongst the latter class, however, there is another kind of mutual help which renders the greatest services to the less fortunate members of Chinese society. Supposing that a workman has lost his father, his colleagues immediately subscribe enough to pay the funeral expenses. Or supposing that he wants to get married, arrangements are made to supply him at once with the funds he may require. Supposing his son passes his examinations, instead of sending him presents in kind, his friends send him money, so that he may have the means of paying his expenses connected with the celebration of his success. Thus we have no public charity funds. These are replaced by a friendly and solid understanding between people of the same class and position of society, who know each other’s means, and understand how to help each other. Such mutual services are never refused. A respectable man can always count on the help of his friends under the circumstances mentioned. And this simple organisation forces each man to be kind and helpful towards his neighbour, for nobody is sure of to-morrow. One does as one would be done by. Thus when one of these associates in benevolence happens to die, his widow and children continue to profit by it, and receive together with the inheritance of the deceased the tokens of gratitude from those he has helped, and which, had he lived, he would have enjoyed in due time. We have in this system a kind of pension and life insurance fund. Our system, however, forces every one—and just because he has no special right to anything—to be good and kind towards all his neighbours. Besides these regular and useful lottery organisations, there are others which are irregular and mischievous. These are mere forms of gambling pure and simple. I wish to speak, in the first place, of the game of Thirty-six Beasts, about which there has been so much talk of late—perhaps more so in Paris than in Camboja. This Cambojan roulette has been described over and over again, and is, it may be mentioned, an importation of Chinese origin. We do not play this game with figures as our neighbours do, but with counters, on which the names of the animals are written. A group of individuals announce that they are going to open a bank, and this without formality of any sort. The news is discreetly and rapidly hawked about the town by the help of numerous agents. Every morning the bankers hoist up on to a high pole a bag, into which one of the thirty counters has been placed at haphazard. The public stake their money on any one of the thirty-six beasts, and those who have backed the beast whose name is inscribed on the counter in that bag that day, win thirty times what they have staked. The six last names are exclusively reserved to the bank. Needless to say, that the players almost always lose. Superstition, which always goes with gambling games, is not wanting here either. To guess the right name, players will put the list before their gods, or before Buddha, and beg him to give a sign by which they may know which beast is the winning one. Ashes of incense falling on one of the names in the list, or the burning caused by a spark from one of the altar candles, are considered sure straight-tips to the gamblers, who, no matter under what sky they live, are always far more simple than intelligent.
As may be seen from this rapid analysis, the game of the thirty-six beasts is a kind of roulette, in which the names of animals are used instead of numbers. It is forbidden by law. Doubtless it is only another kind of lottery, but the daily drawings are too ruinous for those who are carried away by their passion for gambling. This is the reason why, in the Middle Empire, this dangerous game is forbidden. It is never let out to authorised speculators, and is always carried on in a clandestine manner, and is invariably very short-lived. If the organisers fall into the clutches of the law, they are very severely punished. Several years’ imprisonment is not considered too severe a punishment for these harpies on the purses of the poor. On the other hand, the mutual help lottery is considered by all as a useful and respectable undertaking, so much so, that, should it be found impossible to get a sufficient number of people to put their money into one of these speculations, the public officials may be applied to, and are always found ready to contribute their mites to an undertaking which is purely of self-help, and which has often relieved those miseries to which, alas! our poor human race is exposed in every clime and at every age.
CHAPTER XXXV
PUBLIC PLEASURES
THE THEATRES
The theatre in China is always a private institution. We have no State-supported theatres, but, on the other hand, many rich people have theatres in their houses. In the north of China the public has its theatres the same as in Europe, where regular performances of fashionable pieces are given, and where people may dine in the boxes or on the balcony. Everywhere else there is nothing to be had in the way of theatrical representations, except from troupes of strolling actors, who play in the temples, restaurants, or private houses. A set stage is to be seen in every temple, and performances are given on it on the feast day of the patron god of the temple, or for the accomplishment of certain vows. In both cases a troupe is sent for and a piece is selected. Whilst the organisers are taking their seats in the side balconies, which are our equivalent for your stage-boxes, the public is admitted gratuitously, and may place itself either in front or around the stage. At the end of each act—as a rule, only one-act pieces are played—an actor, disguised as a woman, offers the organisers of the fête a certain number of sticks to choose from. On each stick is written the name of one of the plays in the repertory of the troupe. A performance always includes five acts, or, as is usually the case, and generally means the same thing, five pieces, which have to be played through in the course of the evening. On the Emperor’s or Empress’s birthday similar performances are given before the houses of all the public officials, and take place accordingly in the street. This is a treat for the people, who may attend without paying. There are stages in our big restaurants, and performances are given there twice or three times every week. The public seat themselves in parties of four or of six at tables, which are arranged in parallel rows to the stage, and in such a way that nobody has his back turned to the stage. As the customers of these restaurants are all rich people, the actors often get down off the stage to serve wine round, and to ask what piece they shall play. Should the piece thus chosen be found a success and well played, the person who chose it rewards the actors with cash. The actor takes the notes and places them on a tray, which he shows to the public in proof of the generosity of the giver. Should the piece be badly played, or any portion of it be badly sung, the public remains absolutely silent, without manifesting feeling of any kind. The practice of hissing is never indulged in in Chinese theatres. The silence of the public is the rebuke administered to the actors. If, on the other hand, the piece has been creditably performed, there is only one voice among the public to applaud. All the spectators rise to their feet as of one common accord, and shout “Lao, Lao.” This shows that in China we are both polite in our disapproval and prompt to enthusiasm when we are pleased. This national trait is the key to the conduct of the majority of the Chinese under all circumstances. They never criticise directly; they never noisily disapprove of anything, nor give vent to cries of anger: silence suffices for them; silence, which in itself alone has the eloquence of the severest comments, the most indignant exclamations, and is withal dignified; silence, which condemns without discussion and without appeal. A peculiarity of our theatres which may be noted here, is that the orchestra, instead of being placed in front of the stage, is always behind it, and plays no matter what piece of music, and always without notes. The conductor wields no baton, but has a kind of tambourine in one hand and a pair of castanets in the other. The first indicates the time, the others changes in the tone. The actors always play by heart without the help of a prompter. We should laugh were we to see a musician using notes, or a gentleman hidden away in a kind of kennel whispering words to an actor at the moment perhaps when he is in the finest frenzy of passion. In front of the stage, on the two pillars which face the public, there may be generally seen amongst other decorations two bills inscribed with philosophical reflections.
The following is one of the best known:—
“You may consider this performance as true or as false. It is always an image of life and of its conclusions.”
Besides our big theatres we have also puppet shows, in which the puppets are tied to strings and worked by people hidden in the flies. Punch and Judy, worked by the fingers of an actor concealed behind a curtain, are very popular in China. These miniature theatres are much in favour with the people of places which cannot support a real theatre. The performances are exactly the same as on the large stages, and are always accompanied with music and songs from behind the stage. The only difference is that the actors are in cardboard instead of being of flesh and blood, and are very small instead of being very big, a matter of little consequence after all. The size, the costumes, and the substance of the actors may be overlooked, for all that is merely superficial and a deceit of the eye. The truth—the great and immortal truth—is that our desires and our passions, our joys and our woes, are always the same, and never, never change. In every clime and in every age do we see the eternal human comedy repeat itself.
